Two Weeks Ago
Zidane strode into the principal's office without knocking, his presence demanding attention before he even spoke. He moved with the confidence of someone who didn't ask for permission he took it. Without waiting for an invitation, he dropped into the chair across from the principal's desk, draping one arm over the backrest like he owned the place.
"Yes, Zidane. How can I help you now?"
Zidane smirked, tapping his fingers against the desk. "September," he said simply. "I want my boys to go up against the football team."
The principal raised a brow. "And why is that?"
"I need to see where they're at," Zidane said, his voice unwavering. "Training is one thing, but real competition? That's where we see the truth. Plus, I want the option to take players from the football team."
The principal's expression hardened slightly. "You know we intended to start with fresh players "
"And you also said it yourself," Zidane cut in, leaning forward, his gaze sharp. "What if the coaches are the problem?"
The room went silent for a beat. The principal exhaled. "I see. That's an interesting proposal."
Zidane leaned back, satisfied. "Good. I'll leave the details of informing the captain to you."
The principal nodded. "Consider it done. But let me ask what's your angle?"
Zidane's smirk widened. "I want this to be bigger than just a practice match. Promote it like a real game. Invite the board members, other schools, teachers students and boosters let's make this look good. Let them see what we're building here. If we control the narrative, we control the perception. And perception is everything."
The principal studied Zidane carefully before nodding. "Clever. That could work in our favor."
Zidane stood, brushing off his coat. "Not yet," he muttered under his breath. "But soon."
As he reached the door, the principal's voice stopped him.
"Is there anything else you want to discuss with me?" Asked the principal.
Zidane glanced back, his smirk still in place.
"No," he said simply. "Just be ready."
And with that, he walked out, leaving behind an air of quiet dominance.
Now
Zidane's smirk grew as he observed the room full of excited and chaotic players, all moving like ants around Kyren, arguing and pointing as they attempted to pick their positions. Their voices clashed, the air thick with anticipation.
"Pathetic," Zidane muttered under his breath, though loud enough for those near him to hear. "You idiots are too busy fighting over positions instead of realizing what's truly important." He leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed as his eyes scanned the room.
Suddenly, a commanding voice sliced through the chaos.
"Listen up!" Zalika called, her tone cutting through the noise. The room fell silent as she stepped forward, her eyes locking with the group. "I have a better way. All the QBs, step forward."
Ten players shuffled forward, but there was a noticeable gap. Zalika tilted her head. "We need two more."
Two players hesitantly stepped forward, even though they weren't true quarterbacks. Their eyes darted nervously, unsure of the decision but clearly feeling the pressure.
"Now, everybody else who wants to play WR, LB, or DB, get into groups," Zalika continued, her voice firm. The players scrambled to form their clusters.
Elijah walked confidently over to the linebacker group, positioning himself with a quiet intensity.
Kyren scanned the room, his eyes sharp and focused. He nodded to himself and began picking his team. "Elijah, you're first."
Elijah stood taller, a glint of pride flashing in his eyes as he stepped forward. The rest of the group exchanged murmurs, their competitive spirits flaring as Kyren continued to choose players.
"Fugo," Kyren called out next. "You're with me." And then he selected two more.
The room buzzed with activity as players scrambled to form their teams. Zalika stood to the side, scribbling down names, organizing the teams as if it was second nature. The names were neatly written, then slipped into a pile for later distribution.
As the players dispersed to hit the showers, Kyren pulled his phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen and answered the call, his face unreadable as he spoke in quiet tones.
Zalika, who had been making her way toward the door, halted in her tracks when she saw him hang up the phone. "Who was that?" she asked, her voice curious but calm.
"NFC," Kyren replied, his gaze briefly flicking to hers. "They want a meeting tomorrow."
Zalika's brows arched. "Oh, really?" Her voice dropped slightly, both intrigued and cautious. "And what does that mean for us?"
Kyren looked at her with a confident smile. "I'll find out tomorrow."
Without another word, they both headed to Zidane's office, the weight of the conversation pressing down on them. When they entered, Zidane was lounging casually behind his desk, his fingers tapping a rhythmic beat on the surface. His eyes flicked up as they entered, not an ounce of surprise in his demeanor.
"Really?" Zidane asked, his voice dripping with an almost amused disbelief. "NFC wants to meet with me tomorrow?"
"Yes," Kyren confirmed, his tone unwavering.
Zidane's smirk widened, and for a moment, there was a strange tension in the room. "I think you should go," he said finally, his voice taking on a rare sincerity. "You should go, promote our school, promote this program. We need this." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "To be honest... we need this more than you think."
Kyren gave a single nod, understanding the weight behind Zidane's words. Without a word, he turned and walked out, heading toward the showers.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Zalika's eyes met Zidane's. "Did you know this would happen?"
Zidane let out a low chuckle, his gaze unreadable. "I did. And I'm glad it did, to be honest." His smirk returned, sharper than before. "It's about time people started to notice."